


Stones

by queenofpeace



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grief, Mourning, Panic Attacks, post-3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-13
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:23:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofpeace/pseuds/queenofpeace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles’ eyes were fixed on the newest grave. It was black, with lettering all in capitals, engraved sharply, the words painted bright. Stiles didn’t have to get closer to read the name; he already knew who was sleeping there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stones

**Author's Note:**

> I began this ficlet not with intent to fix canon, because I thought the writers handled the characters and their mourning for Allison fairly well considering the time jump, but instead with the idea to explore what may have happened during said time jump. It's my first fic on AO3, so I hope you guys enjoy it.  
> Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf in any way - that's Jeff Davis and MTV, not me!  
> Extra warnings at the end.

Stiles lay his back on the grass. He stared at the grey blur above him, letting the wind stroke his cheek gently as he breathed. The clouds looked heavy with rain, and he knew a storm would pass through Beacon Hills soon.

He took a deep breath, inflating his lungs with air as he pressed his elbows into the soft soil below him, pulling himself upwards. He brushed his clothes briskly, picking at the stranded pieces of grass that clung onto him. Stiles let the air escape, but he could still feel his body shaking with emotion. He glanced over to the corner of the field, but immediately drew his attention back to the stone before him, back to his mother.

“Hey mom,” he whispered. “I know it’s been a while, but a lot’s happened over the past few months and it’s taken me a while to figure out how to do things again.”

His fingers gripped the ends of the bouquet he’d been saving up for. The stalks were still wet, freshly cut from the store, and he traced the pads of his fingers over the bumps like how he used to trace his mother’s drawings.

“Some stuff, some really complicated stuff’s been going on here recently. Bad stuff, I mean, horrible things. Dad’s okay, so you shouldn’t get worried about him but, uh...”

The words slipped from him like sand. Stiles swallowed the feelings away, but, even so, he could feel his throat tighten and his eyes water.

“I don’t know how to tell you mom, but I need to say it to someone,” he choked. One of the flower stalks split in his hands. “A friend of mine, a good friend, died because of me. She was so strong, so brave, and she died because of me, mom. If I’d been more like her, maybe if I was stronger, I could have stopped everything from happening. Maybe she would be alive and not here with you.”

In the distance, the clouds were thick and black. If Stiles looked carefully, he could see the shadow of rain cast itself over the preserve.

“I just, I feel so guilty, and no one wants to talk about it anymore. Allison, you remember me telling you about her, she was friends with everyone. Lydia was her best friend, and I think Scott still loved her even after they broke up. Even Derek was warming up to her near the end. But no one wants to talk about what happened, mom, because they’re still so broken.

“But I need to tell someone. I have to. I don’t feel like myself anymore. This thing that happened... it still feels like it’s a part of me, like this big, dark shape has been carved into my soul or something and it’s never going to go away-” Stiles stopped, and took a deep breath. “It’s eating at me mom. I need you so much right now,” Stiles spluttered whilst his fingers shook as the bite in the wind hit his bones.

“Dad thinks that most of what I did wasn’t me. But it was; it was my body and my mind doing these things. I can still feel how I acted and how I moved. And it’s not right, mom. I can’t even talk to my friends about how sorry I am because they’re still grieving, and I can’t ruin that because of myself. I’ve already ruined things enough.”

There was still so much to say. He could feel the words building up in his head, houses full of stories of terror and depression, but his heart was already exhausted.

Stiles, instead, chose to say goodbye to his mother, and laid down the flowers beneath her name. The bouquet was the same one he always bought: big, and with the bright, beautiful flowers his mom used to love to decorate the house with because of the ‘glow they brought into their lives’, she used to say. But the fact was that it wasn’t the flowers or the pictures of flowers or the yellow paint in the bathroom that made their house glow. It was her.

Stiles’ eyes traveled to the corner of the field again, where new graves had been dug, nice and cosy for the dead. The gravestones in that part of the cemetery were saddening and new, still shiny, untainted by nature unlike the older ones that were already sinking into the ground.

Stiles’ eyes were fixed on the newest grave. It was black, with lettering all in capitals, engraved sharply, the words painted bright. Stiles didn’t have to get closer to read the name; he already knew who was sleeping there.

A chill swept over him suddenly and the air was blown out of his lungs. Stiles gasped, one hand clutching his chest whilst the other flailed towards his mother. He knelt against the floor, struggling to heave air into his lungs as his ribs constricted against him. His mind swayed, thoughts dancing before his eyes in panic as his barriers broke and leaked out one important thought: I need to see Allison.

***

Stiles knelt by his mother for ten minutes before he could work up the courage to go over to Allison. His legs were like jelly throughout the entire walk – only a few meters – and Stiles felt a familiar ache in his chest as he thought about what he could possibly say to her.

His hands reached down and picked at the wild plants dotted around his journey. Yellow dandelions with thick, arrowed leaves were bunched up in his hand. The stalks weren’t long enough for him to fiddle with.

ALLISON ARGENT was engraved neatly and precisely in the darkness of the stone. The letters were painted white. Along the border, Stiles could see patterns of pink and green and red fluxing into petals that cascaded around the small chunk of text that would be read by strangers for years to come:

ALLISON ARGENT

A loving young woman who died saving her friends.

_“_ _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-mêmes._ _”_

Stiles remembered the funeral. He remembered seeing Chris Argent stare forlornly at another body he had to bury; Scott and Lydia were holding onto each other, gasping for breath at the loss of another person they loved dearly; Derek had decided to turn up after days of debating, standing solid behind Stiles. Kira was there too, her mother and father by her side. Isaac was next to Chris, eyes wet and shoulders sagging, too familiar with the cemetery, with knowing how to grieve.

And there was Stiles, whose head replayed memory after memory of the feeling of his life being stripped away from him, pulled into a command. _Kill her_.

“Allison,” he started.

The panic he felt before had swollen up in his chest again. His lips trembled, tongue pressed hard against the roof of his mouth. His eyes were starting to sting, blurring his vision.

He sat down, whole body shaking with sobs. For minutes, he sat there, letting himself just cry – he cried for Allison, cried for his mother, cried for his friends. He cried for himself. Stiles’ heart felt like it was broken into shattered pieces like a mirror. When he looked at himself he only saw fragments of who he once was, who he could’ve been. Now he’s left to pick up the pieces.

“Allison,” he started again, his voice hoarse. “I’m so, so sorry. I should have done something or realized something was happening to me before this happened to you. I should have been stronger. I should have stopped it from using me like it did. I tried, but I let it in. I let it in and now you’re dead.”

Carefully, he lay the dandelions down against the dark gravestone, tying the stalks with a long strip of grass together without breaking it.  The flower heads stood out, bright yellow against the deep black. The leaves, pointed, swayed against the light wind that made them stroke Allison’s grave gently.

“We all miss you, very, very much,” he continued. “I don’t think Lydia and Scott have separated since it all, they can’t stand life without you.”

Stiles lay down next to Allison, staring up at the sky.

“Ethan’s left town too. I think Lydia or Danny told you that, but I’m just making sure you know. Malia’s come back to town and her dad’s sorting her out with school and everything. Scott’s starting to train her up. It’s actually pretty great seeing Scott get into his alpha groove after everything that happened. He and Kira are getting along great, too. He’s starting to move on. Sometimes I’ll look at him and I’ll see him stare off into the distance, remembering you, but I know he’s trying."

The words started to tumble out, like water from a broken dam. He breathed, and carried on.

“Lydia’s been painting more and more. I think the flowers she did on the gravestone sparked off something and now it’s like she can’t stop.

“Isaac went off to France with your dad a few days ago. I’m going to miss him, but there wasn’t anything really left for him. I can’t blame him, but I wish he could’ve stayed a little more. I know it’d make Derek feel a whole lot better, seeing as he used to live with him and all. Now he’s got creepy Peter to have around and that’s not fair on Derek. No one should be burdened with Peter’s creep-tastic presence, ever. Period.”

His voice was monotone, hoarse from crying, but the words resonated within Stiles somehow. Something was awakening inside of him, but, this time, it felt like something good.

A drop of rain splashed on his face. Stiles looked up to the sky and watched the dark clouds crawl above him. The rain came down on him slowly at first. It was light but it was cold and the water slid of his skin easily.

Stiles twisted around to get one more look, say one more goodbye.

“This was actually nice. I miss talking to you.”

The rain suddenly came down in sheets, thunder booming miles away. Stiles ignored the lightening flash that preceded it, focusing instead on the rain that was sliding down Allison’s gravestone all the way to the ground. He gave a quick smile and a quick nod, letting the rain cascade on him.

“Goodbye Allison,” Stiles said. “I’ll miss you.”

Stiles turned around, feet and legs and chest solid as he walked through the cemetery. The storm continued around him and the sky was dark, but even Stiles could make out patches of blue sky in the distance. He recognized the green of the spring.

As he closed the gate behind him, making it squeak, Stiles looked forward, finding his jeep. He thought of his dad, Scott, Derek, and Lydia. Even if it would take him longer, Stiles could feel himself moving on. He could see that he wasn’t alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, here are a few warnings you should be aware of: Stiles experiences panic attacks, although they're not described in lots of detail; this fic deals with grief and mourning for multiple characters (Allison and Claudia Stilinski); it also deals with Stiles and his feelings following the possession in 3b, which has made him feel incredibly guilty for Allison's death; it's also set in a graveyard.  
> Let me know if there's anything I missed out.


End file.
